


Days

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, more like an exploration of how chilton feels about the whole shot in the face thing, no actual plot i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick tries to continue life after all that has happened, but it's really not the same as it used to be. Or maybe it's just him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a writer's block so I spat this out in the middle of the night, hoping it will get me out of my slump. Hope you guys like it.

It had been seventeen days since Dr. Frederick Chilton had seen his reflection in a mirror. It was quite the accomplishment, really, because he was so accustomed to spending much time on how he looked, on making sure he didn't miss any patches of hair while shaving, making sure his styling gel was evenly spread, making sure there wasn't anything around his eyes that would hint at his sleep deprivation. 

He had covered up his bathroom mirrors with garbage bags and taken down any mirrors that were on the walls, even if they were ornamental. Frederick even avoided using the shiny, steel appliances in his kitchen. No toaster, no oven. It was a good thing, then, that he usually ordered take-out anyway. He had stopped going to five star restaurants and was slowly but surely getting the hang of the disposable chopsticks that came with vegetarian pho, a meal that had become his comfort food. 

Frederick had his kidney taken away from him. Months later, a hole had been blown through his cheek, leaving a split-open face, a slashed tongue, and a shattered jaw. His organs, his face, and his teeth, all had been taken away from him, and he is reminded of this everyday. He is reminded in the mornings when he wakes up and reaches for the newly purchased cane resting by his bed. He is reminded when he brushes his teeth and can feel the few unfilled gaps and chips that remained through the bristles of his toothbrush. He is reminded when he washes his face and his fingers run over the jagged scar where no more hair can grow. He is reminded when he drinks his morning coffee and the hot drink runs over the sensitive parts of his tongue.

For weeks after he had gotten home from the hospital, he would have to stop whatever he was doing and rest his hands on the closest available surface and bow his head and try to get his breathing back to normal whenever he thought too long about what had happened. He still did that from time to time, but it was easier to ignore the reminders when he couldn’t actually see them in his reflection. And so the formally appearance-conscious Frederick stopped looking at himself altogether and he felt slightly more at peace.

But it was like his eyes had also been taken away from him. What was next? His arms? Or just his hands so that he could no longer hold onto the cane?

Maybe his ears would be the next to go. No more listening in to all the conversations at the BSHCI. No more therapy sessions unless he becomes skilled at lip reading. No more music unless he learns to feel it through the vibrations.

Or maybe the next thing to go would be another one of his organs. Part of his intestines and one of his kidneys were gone, so was it a stretch that another one of his insides would be taken away from him? Something little like his pancreas, or maybe something vital like his heart or lungs or brain.

Maybe little by little, Frederick’s entire body will be taken away from him until he is no longer there. Until the blood can no longer be pumped through his veins. Until there is nothing helping him to breathe in oxygen. Until there are no legs for him to stand on and no arms. Until all that is left of him is his consciousness. He can’t really promise his sanity won’t be taken away from him. His body would be gone completely and he could become a ghost of sorts.

He would not have anyone to haunt, of course, but the idea was tempting. Tempting enough that Frederick occasionally found himself standing at his bedroom window, staring into the nothingness of the wide night sky, with a white sheet draped over his shoulders. He was too embarrassed and too proud to toss it over his head like he had wanted to so many times, but it was nice to pretend to be something that he was not, that he was a ghost out of his grave. People tended to look through him, anyways. 

But that was a burden on its own. To sit at his empty kitchen table with a glass of wine and a cigarette, smoking for the first time since he graduated from medical college, drinking from his most expensive glass. He would play the radio loud but not listen to any of the words or the songs that came from the speakers.

He would eye from his spot his jar of non-prescription medications. Among them, one bottle stood out so well. The big bottle near the top that he used so often to treat his aching body.

The painkillers.

It would be so easy to just open it up and swallow as many pills as he could before his bottle of wine ran dry. He was curious as to who would find him. Maybe a neighbour, days after noticing a peculiar stench coming from the house. Maybe Jack Crawford, coming to him to consult on a case after seeing that he was not at the BSHCI.

But it did not matter. Frederick would finish his glass of wine, put out his cigarette, and go up to bed. He would curl up on his mattress, pulling his sheets tightly around himself and he would wait to fall asleep, knowing it will be a long time until the sandman arrives. He would lie on his back and stare at the ceiling and become aware of his body and its stolen parts even more than during the day. And he just couldn’t help but think…

Maybe it would be nice if more of him was taken away. After all, bodies fall apart no matter what eventually. And more than anything, they are heavy.

They are so heavy.


End file.
